![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
00:00:00
"Now it's my crime scene."
Those could have been, should have been, the last words he heard from McGarrett, and in a kinder world, they might have been, but the world hates Danny Williams, and he's not exactly feeling all that generous towards it, himself, so he's honestly not even a little surprised when the authoritative rap on his door comes attached to a too-tall, too-broad, too-aggressive Navy SEAL with revenge on the mind and Daddy issues from here back to the boardwalks of Wildwood.
He hates him.
Because of this joker, he's home in the middle of the day, instead of at work, work, he might point out, where he's attempting to catch the guy who did this to McGarrett, Sr., which is normally what the child of a murder victim wants, right? They want the cops to do their damn job and haul the dirtbag in for justice.
They don't storm in and take over like it's their goddamn platoon out in fucking Afghanistan.
Except McGarrett, okay, he doesn't seem to have gotten the memo. There's a reason officers don't get involved if the deceased was a family member, and this is exactly why: it makes people angry, irrational.
(He hopes to hell this is McGarrett being irrational.)
It's too close, too personal -- and it's also not his case anymore, so he's got no idea why McGarrett, shirt sticking to his skin from the soaking rain that just hit, because it rains every goddamn day here, what a fucking miracle, Hallelujah, is standing on his doorstep, because it isn't that.
(And it's not that either, he refuses, it's not happening, and there's no possible way this whackjob noticed. It could be he doesn't even have a timer, or got his blown off while single-handedly stopping an insurrection with a couple of grenades and a can-do attidtude.)
So he just stands and waits, with one hand still on the doorknob, ready to slam it shut just as soon as possible.
Those could have been, should have been, the last words he heard from McGarrett, and in a kinder world, they might have been, but the world hates Danny Williams, and he's not exactly feeling all that generous towards it, himself, so he's honestly not even a little surprised when the authoritative rap on his door comes attached to a too-tall, too-broad, too-aggressive Navy SEAL with revenge on the mind and Daddy issues from here back to the boardwalks of Wildwood.
He hates him.
Because of this joker, he's home in the middle of the day, instead of at work, work, he might point out, where he's attempting to catch the guy who did this to McGarrett, Sr., which is normally what the child of a murder victim wants, right? They want the cops to do their damn job and haul the dirtbag in for justice.
They don't storm in and take over like it's their goddamn platoon out in fucking Afghanistan.
Except McGarrett, okay, he doesn't seem to have gotten the memo. There's a reason officers don't get involved if the deceased was a family member, and this is exactly why: it makes people angry, irrational.
(He hopes to hell this is McGarrett being irrational.)
It's too close, too personal -- and it's also not his case anymore, so he's got no idea why McGarrett, shirt sticking to his skin from the soaking rain that just hit, because it rains every goddamn day here, what a fucking miracle, Hallelujah, is standing on his doorstep, because it isn't that.
(And it's not that either, he refuses, it's not happening, and there's no possible way this whackjob noticed. It could be he doesn't even have a timer, or got his blown off while single-handedly stopping an insurrection with a couple of grenades and a can-do attidtude.)
So he just stands and waits, with one hand still on the doorknob, ready to slam it shut just as soon as possible.
no subject
"That was Chin." Informative. "Sang Min bought the pitch." Flat. "He meets Kono tomorrow morning." Fast.
They were go for picking off the bastard who drugged little girls and sell them to the highest bidder. To get whatever they could from him, along with the chance of getting him, and getting him to turn on whoever was above him, as far as it took to get to Hesse. Who was on the shadow-y edge of this system, because it was one of the things he did everywhere and it was the fastest way to get himself out.
Using the same door to get out that all of these people were using to bring people in.
Except that Hesse was going to find Steve in the door of that exit. That was how this was going to end. Here. Now.
no subject
"Alright."
It's a good start, for sure, good news, but he's cautious by nature, and Steve's slung straight back into the tunnel-vision of obsession. Someone's got to remind him that plans don't always work out the way people want, that things could still go wrong, because Steve charged in without backup earlier, and it was only by sheer chance that the worst that happened was a graze on Danny's arm. "Still no guarantee he's gonna tell us where Hesse is, though."
He's got the light of the fanatic in his eyes, the softer, considering expression of a second ago vanished like it never happened at all. Back behind the wall.
But there. Danny saw it. So maybe, they can go into this as partners. Maybe he can keep those size eleven boots of Steve's on the ground, and not leaping off a cliff chasing a blind lead.
Probably not, but there's something in the fact that he even wants to try.
no subject
Maybe harder and faster than Steve knows it should.
Especially given Danny didn't actually insinuate it wasn't. That he didn't want it to. He just laid it out there, quick but calm. Like it was a reminder of logistics. Probability. One Steve knew better than anyone on the planet. How many time The Hesse Brothers had slipped through his and everyone else's fingers. How many times the floor was left littered with bodies, either bloodied with death or sullied beyond human recognition.
It's actively an effort. That one second pause. To swallow down an insane need that can barely be reigned back. Especially in this place, with this view, on these chairs. Where it's all too clear, and maybe he can almost risk letting it be that bare. After all these words, and Danny lack of understanding through half the day how much it matters, even when Steve can't let it.
How much that never stops it, even when he has to keep stopping it. Keep doing more.
"It's the only chance I have of finding the man who killed my father."
no subject
"Yeah."
It coasts on an outgoing breath, both his hands wrapped around the bottle, green glass catching the sunlight and refracting it just like the waves do, but he's studying Steve, that face, that certainty.
He's seen it before. Sort of a Captain Ahab deal; men and women obsessed with revenge, or something less final but no less all-encompassing. That burning need to take them in, make them pay, win, even though it can't ever bring back the people lost. Hesse will still have fired that bullet, even if Steve catches him. He and his brother will still have terrorized the world for years.
But it's not about bringing people back, and Danny can get that, too. It's about laying them to rest. About making sure no one else ever gets hurt by that man again. White hat versus black -- and sometimes the motivation? That's all the difference between them there is.
He hopes to God Steve knows it.
"Okay. Then that's what we'll do."